


Will You Stay in Our Lovers' Story?

by blueteak



Series: Hunky Dory [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: A sort of character death, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/pseuds/blueteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It's 1980. Sam realizes that though he has to go, he and Gene will be together again. Spoilers for Ashes to Ashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Stay in Our Lovers' Story?

**Author's Note:**

>  Thanks to [](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) for beta reading and [](http://edzel2.livejournal.com/profile)[ **edzel2**](http://edzel2.livejournal.com/) for Britpicking. Story contains elements of D/s and masochism and sadism--the Hunt-Tyler household is a kinky one--and one kink in particular was inspired by a line in [](http://mikes-grrl.livejournal.com/profile)[ **mikes_grrl**](http://mikes-grrl.livejournal.com/)'s "Undercover" series. 

Sam stared at him, looking absolutely gobsmacked. It was a good look on Sam, one he hardly ever wore anymore, at least not since he’d decided against going back to Hyde. Sam hadn’t even looked surprised when the USA had won against the USSR in the Olympic hockey match. If Sam had bloody well suspected that the USA would win, he could’ve told Gene where best to place his wager. He had been right often enough for Gene to trust him by now. Tosser.

 

And yet the sight of Gene in his new jacket—sleek, black and the only concession that Gene was prepared to make to the 1980s—had him slack-jawed and frozen in place as though Gene had come back from the shops wearing a hat made of writhing snakes rather than a new jacket. Sam didn’t even reach to pick up his towel when it fell off his bony hips. Not that Gene was complaining.

 

Sam’s voice returned, but the towel didn’t. “Gene….Gene, come toward me like you’re trying to arrest me. And make the coat flare a bit.”

 

It was only about half five. More like beer o’ clock than kinky hour, though if Sam wanted it now….

 

“I don’t have any handcuffs on me, Sam, so if you’re wanting--”

 

“No—no, not yet, anyway,” Sam said, the astonishment in his eyes giving way to a spark of excitement that Gene only now realized hadn’t quite been there earlier. “Just—I want to see you walk in that coat.” Curious. Not curious enough to make Gene ask outright, but he could poke around and maybe get a response that would tell him something.

 

“Are you sure you’re not just angling for a superior officer to show you the error of your ways?” Gene asked, ogling Sam’s bare arse. After seven years of knowing Tyler and his bare arse, Gene could more or less tell when he needed to be pinned down and smacked until he begged or came, but sometimes he still needed to ask to be sure. Sam didn’t seem to be hard now, but he could still want….

 

“Really, maybe later. For now, please, just—“

 

Gene shrugged, smirked, and then schooled his face into his best “blaggers beware” expression and advanced toward Sam, who backed up against the bed, looking lost in thought. He still seemed more distracted than excited. Odd.

 

“Now say ‘Oi! Stop, you lot! Those trousers will slip off if you keep running and I will charge you with assault on a police officer if I have to suffer the sight of your hairy arses.’”

 

While Sam had come to accept some of what Gene had taught him over the years, he’d hardly started channelling him. Sam must have heard him say it before, but Gene couldn’t for the life of him think of when.

Gene frowned, grabbed Sam by the back of the neck and pulled him close, forcing his hands to scrabble for purchase on Gene’s new coat to retain his balance.

 

“This a fashion show, Gladys, or a lineup?” he whispered into Sam’s ear, shivering at the post-shower heat radiating off of Sam, wanting only to sink into it, generate more heat, not get lost in role play that wasn’t going to get them off.

 

Sam pushed back, pupils black. “A little of both, Gene. Come at me while saying that, just once. Please.”

 

Sam was hard now and had no way to disguise it. But there was a barely restrained giddiness in his eyes, a combination of joy and shock. And, if Gene knew his man, a bit of sorrow.

 

Gene tried to kiss all the mixed up emotions out of Sam, then pulled back and did as he’d been asked, eyes locked on Sam’s the entire time.

 

When he’d finished, Sam had bitten his lip and looked away, but not before Gene had seen the sheen of tears in his eyes.

 

“I’ll have to let the manufacturers know this coat makes the girls weep,” Gene said, taking Sam’s chin and forcing Sam to look at him.

 

Well, Gene forced Sam to face him, anyway. His eyes were focused somewhere beyond Gene. He tilted his head, clearly remembering something, and then his jaw tightened in resolve. Gene hoped he wasn’t resolving to keep whatever this was about from him.

 

“Sam,” said in his best DCI voice, was all it took for Sam to meet his gaze.

 

Sam blinked, then smiled shakily, looking oddly sheepish. “When you run into sixth formers skiving off, go easy on them, yeah?”

 

Mr. Rules and Regs himself suddenly becoming the patron saint of skiving sixth formers made about as much sense as the idea that that caterwauling group Sam had dragged him to would make it big, but Gene wasn’t about to waste Sam’s nakedness with a lot of searching questions. It would come up again if it was important. Sam would let him know.

 

“So I can terrify the younger kiddies?”

 

“Yes. Stamp on their toys, deny them ice cream, whatever you like. Sixth formers avoiding teachers’ dirty looks? Let them run wild and free.”

 

“As you wish. It’s more or less their decision to have stayed on by that point anyway, and if they’d rather hang about on Oxford Road than go to Oxbridge, no reason they should be punished for it. Now,” he said sternly, “is there anything I need to know, DI Tyler?”

 

Instead of putting on clothes and telling Gene to piss off, a sure sign that kinky hour would happen later if it happened at all, Sam startled, then grinned and gave Gene his best shifty look, which of course didn’t resemble anything close to what he looked like when he was doing something Gene wouldn’t approve of.

 

“What has our friend in RCS already told you, Guv? That’ll tell you whether or not you need to learn anything from me.”

 

Gene stepped closer. “He told me, Tyler, that he’d caught you in the vice cupboard entertaining yourself with dirty magazines and some confiscated items. Gave me the details on those items. At length.” Gene shook his head. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but after what you did to extricate yourself from charges that time you--”

 

Sam cut him off, taking control of the fantasy. Gene hoped that Sam wasn’t feeling so mixed up that he’d ask for what might not do him good right now.

 

Given that Sam was being both girly and barmy at the moment, a thrashing wasn’t what he needed. And besides, thrashing Sam was far more satisfying when he was being a right snotty little bastard so that Gene would discipline him.

 

However, simply pinning his wrists and holding him down wouldn’t work either. He looked like he wanted to be thoroughly shaken out of whatever it was that had his knickers in a twist and his eyes looking somewhere beyond Gene.

 

A few years ago they’d found a way of getting Sam off and in a thoroughly different state of mind that didn’t involve spanking, wrestling, cuffs, or the inventive use of ties. It also certainly didn’t involve Sam calling him “daddy.” Sam had looked seriously ill when Gene had suggested it. He’d thought it made sense given what they were about to do. Apparently not.

 

It was this gentler, but possibly kinkier, way of taking control that Gene had had in mind before Sam interrupted with:

 

“That’s nothing compared to what DCI Litton will have me do to keep from reporting this to the Super, Guv.”

 

Good. Sam appeared to be on the same page. Using Litton’s name in their house was code that had started out as a joke, but still got the wheels of their dirty games in motion. However, Gene had to be sure Sam knew what he’d done. “You remember what I told you I’d do if you said that tosser’s name in my presence?”

 

Sam swallowed, winced. Whispered “Yes, Guv.”

 

Gene almost backed off until he caught sight of the glint in Sam’s eyes. Thank Christ Sam wasn’t the best actor. Not good news for undercover work, certainly, but it made him much easier to read during the kinky stuff.

 

“Go in there and get it ready, then bring it out here for me to use on you,” Gene said, sending Sam off with a hard slap on the bum.

 

Part of him still itched to drag Sam in there by the scruff on the neck and stand over him, forcing him to do as he was told. If Sam wanted him to do this kind of thing, then shouldn’t he do it as he would actually do it?

 

When he’d explained this reasoning to Sam the first time, Sam had looked at him a long moment, as though trying to determine how much Gene really wanted to hear. Then he’d smiled, teasing. “Isn’t that a good fantasy, Gene? Me obeying you with no questions unless I want a good hiding? Or unless I really don’t want to do what you say. You’re already good at telling which is which with what we’ve done so far, but you know I’ll help you with that if you need it.”

 

Despite Sam’s prediction, Gene hadn’t hardened instantly at the thought of a submissive Sam in the bedroom. He liked arguing with Sam, wrestling with Sam…he was surprised the filing cabinet didn’t have a permanent bleeding indentation in it from the force of their erections when they scuffled. And he also liked it slow and gentle, and not only when one or both of them had had a shite day.

 

Sam seemed to have divined some of Gene’s reservations, for he’d gone on to list a host of things he thought Gene might like, beginning with handcuffs, wrestling, spanking, and putting various things up the arse.

 

“Christ,” Gene had said once he was reasonably sure that actual words would come out of his mouth. “Is there anything you won’t let me do to you—or that you don’t want to do to me?”

 

Gene didn’t even want to think about the things on the “don’t” list.

 

What he was having Sam do now hadn’t been on either list. Sam, kinky sod that he was, hadn’t even seemed to be aware of it at the list making stage. But then he’d joked at the possibility when Gene had given him a look for cursing a blue streak in front of Annie.

 

They’d looked at one another and a spark had gone off. Tyler’d had to, of course, talk it through at least a little, explain all the reasons he was and wasn’t interested in trying it, and then take the piss by saying that Gene usually deserved it more than he himself did.

 

Which Gene had to admit he did. Fair cop and all. And then he’d told Tyler to open up.

 

Now, watching Sam shiver, eyes lowered, trying to please him, Gene’s chest tightened. He was simultaneously in awe of Sam’s willingness to obey like this, for him, and reluctant to punish him, even though he knew that this was no punishment for Sam. It was just hard to remember that when Sam was in front of him looking forlorn and contrite in a way he would never, ever look at work.

 

Sam’s enormous erection did serve as a welcome reminder of why they were doing this, though.

 

Gene took the soapy toothbrush Sam had prepared and guided him to sit more or less over the tent in Gene’s trousers and lean back with his head supported by Gene’s shoulder. “Now, we’re going to wash that perfumed git’s name right out of your mouth, do you hear me?

 

Sam shifted a little against Gene’s cock and nodded apprehensively.

 

“Good. Time to open up, Sam.”

 

Gene almost gasped at the sight of Sam tilting his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, and opening his mouth wide.

 

Sam always kept his eyes closed when they did this, lashes dark against his cheek and sometimes clumped with tears. One day Gene would order him to keep them open, though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to discover where Sam went when they did this.

 

Sam’s tongue jerked in an effort to avoid the soap and Gene’s cock twitched at the sight even as he wondered why Sam let him do this, and why he responded to it the way he did. Gene did not normally consider himself a tooth and tongue man, after all. There was no way on God’s earth that brushing soapy bristles over Sam’s teeth, starting at the back and working toward the front, should have been as mind-blowingly hot as it was.

 

It was just…he was putting it in Sam, making him whimper, obey, squirm in his arms, arms which were both cradling him and constraining him….And. Well. Who did he need to explain this to, anyway? Ray? Sam taking this for him was hot. End of.

 

It continued to be hot while Sam kept the soap in his mouth, face now buried in Gene’s shoulder, cock poking into Gene’s belly.

 

After a minute, Gene told Sam to go spit and rinse. It was Sam getting the brush and the brushing that really got them going. The goal here wasn’t to get Sam’s tongue permanently smelling of Pears.

 

When Sam came back, looking freshly scrubbed and even randier, Gene praised him, told him he’d been good and that he was going to get a reward.

 

And with that, he knelt, took Sam in his mouth, teased him as long as he could, and swallowed him down before pulling him onto the floor and into a kiss.

 

By the time they broke apart, Sam’s mouth was filthier than it’d been since well before it’d been soaped out.

 

Playing that particular dirty game usually put Sam in a quiet, burrowing mood. He’d hide his face somewhere on Gene and stay still, wanting Gene to stay still with him. Gene couldn’t even light up a fag when Sam was like this, though how the smoke could bother him while he had his face pressed against Gene he would never know.

 

This time, though, Sam was snickering into Gene’s shoulder, the puffs of breath against his skin doing quite a lot to remind him that though he’d finally stripped, he hadn’t come yet.

 

“Oi! I’ll not have you impugning my legendary prowess as a lover by cackling like a weird sister, Sammy. Tell me what’s so funny or I’ll put you over my knee.”

 

Sam stopped laughing immediately. Gene could sense the wheels turning, that thrum of interest whenever he suggested warming Sam’s bum for him.

 

Apparently not today, though. Sam grinned up at him. “Just imagining Li—I mean, Paco Rabanne’s—face if he found out we use him for kinky sex.”

 

“Yes, Sam, kinky sex that involved at least one of us getting off,” Gene said, gesturing at his crotch.

 

“Mmmmmm,” Sam hummed, putting his hand on Gene’s neglected cock. “Would you like me to say his name again so you can pound it out of me?”

 

“So filthy after what I just did to you? No.” Gene thought back to Sam tilting his head back, opening his mouth, and giving himself over to Gene entirely. Much as he’d enjoyed it, he’d already been a little rough. If Sam wasn’t absolutely craving spanking, handcuffs, and other assorted kinky things at the moment, then Gene would be more than happy to do him gentle.

 

Gene kissed Sam, slow and hard. “On your back, love.”

 

Gene watched Sam’s eyes the entire time, hoping with each thrust that Sam would stay with him, that the far away look wouldn’t come back.

 

Of course thinking about it meant that it had to happen. Sam froze after he came, looking troubled. Gene was just far enough gone to ask, unable to restrain himself. “What is it, Sammy?” He panted. “What’s wrong?”

 

Sam kissed him instead of answering, biting him on the lip and tightening around him to push him over the edge.

 

Gene forgot about it for a good ten minutes, but something about the way Sam was looking up at the ceiling made him ask again.

 

“What happened, Sam? Where did you go?”

 

Sam sighed and moved closer to him. “I saw stars, Gene.”

 

Gene wondered why what should have been a clichéd compliment made him shiver, hold Sam tighter.

 

**

It wasn’t until Sam handed him what was meant to be an arson report that Gene learned what was going on with Sam, remembered where they were and what this place was. And how Sam had come to be with them.

 

The file was meant to contain photos of a burned out warehouse on the Queen Mary Road. It was not meant to contain a picture of Sam with the word “suicide” stamped across his forehead. It was not meant to contain an accident report and a psychological profile from 2006. And, bloody hell, it was not meant to contain the words “DCI Tyler.”

 

Gene stopped Sam before he could leave Gene’s office. “DCI Tyler. A word.”

 

Sam turned, grinning. “Oh, you’ve--”

 

The smile vanished when he saw the look on Gene’s face. “Oh. You can see it now too.”

 

“You know. You’ve known.” Gene rose, fists clenched.

 

“It would be hard not to, Guv. For the past couple of months, every file I’ve opened has looked like the one in front of you before it’s turned into whatever file it’s supposed to be.” He smiled wanly. “I think it means something.”

 

Gene punched him to see him bleed, then backed him up into the filing cabinet, keeping him boxed in. “You feel that, Sam? You feel me? This is real. You don’t have to go, even though you know. We can tell whatever wants you that it can’t have you.” Gene now knew what had to happen to Sam, but with Sam warm against him it was hard to imagine him being gone.

 

Sam wouldn’t answer him right away. Or fight. God damn him, Gene could tell he wouldn’t fight. Stupid ponce started telling a story instead. “Nelson told me once that I wasn’t really alive if I couldn’t feel. When I went back to Hyde--No. When I went back to 2006--I was in a meeting. Felt like the longest bloody meeting of my life. I accidentally cut myself. Didn’t feel a thing. And then I went--”

 

Gene punched him in the stomach and said it himself to keep Sam from saying it. “So you went up to the top of the building and took a running leap off the roof. I scanned that part of the report. Saw the pictures too.”

 

 Hearing Gene say it made Sam wince in a way the punch hadn’t. Gene really did not want to know whether Sam would have sounded matter of fact, glad, or sad if he’d been the one to tell the story of how he’d arrived back in 1973. Any intonation Sam used would have made Gene want to punch him. Then hug him. Then kiss him. “You wouldn’t have dared if I’d been there.”

 

Sam smiled as he wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. Then he stopped and gave Gene a considering look. “Maybe you will be there.”

 

“I bloody well won’t. If you’re disappearing off into the wild blue starry yonder, I’m going with you, not babysitting baby Sammy until he grows up and tries to jump off of a very tall building.”

 

Sam had apparently decided to ignore the part where Gene said he was coming as well. “By the time you meet him again, ‘baby’ Sammy will gladly punch you for thinking of him as a child, you know.”

 

“Are you deaf? I won’t be here. I’ll be out there. Somewhere.” He didn’t say “with you,” but from the soppy expression on Sam’s face it was clear he knew what Gene had almost said.

 

“Yes. You will be. But not yet.”

 

“And how would you know that, Gladys? You the gatekeeper?”

 

“No, that’s Nelson,” Sam said absently. “I know because…I don’t know whether I should tell you, God knows what the universe will do to me for letting you know, but it’s not like I haven’t interfered before…I know, Gene, because you come chasing after me in London. Terrify the life out of me when I’m eighteen.”

 

Gene smiled at the image despite his insistence that he would be going with Sam, not frightening the younger version of him.

 

Sam pressed his advantage. “Based on what I  **think**  Nelson was saying the other night, you’re meant to stay and mentor the younger me, at least until after the accident happens again.  Then I’ll go back to 1973, but this time I’ll know you, even though you won’t know me. I think we’ll be able to save more people, protect them from the likes of Morgan. I think that’s why we need to go around one more time.”

 

Gene nodded, giving every appearance of considering it even as his fist moved back toward Sam’s stomach.

 

This time, Sam blocked it, catching Gene’s fist and twisting his arm. “Gene, be reasonable--”

 

Gene snorted. “Reasonable.  Right. I let you leap off into the stars on your own and wait around for you to be hit by a car on the off chance that we’ll be able to trick Morgan and save more people on the next go around. And all of this is based on what you think a barman told you.”

 

Sam sighed and let go of Gene’s arm. “I trust Nelson, Gene. I trust my gut.” Sam looked out of Gene’s office window to where Chris, Ray and Annie were going through files. “And I trust you to look after them, get them out.”

 

Gene closed his eyes. “Get out, Sam.”

 

Sam went for the door. Gene stopped him. “Will I see you later?”

 

Sam nodded significantly, making Gene want to smack him. “You will.”

 

Gene poured himself a healthy measure of scotch and sat back down at his desk, reading Sam’s file. He stared at the pictures so long his eyes started to water. That mess on the pavement would not be happening again.

 

***

 

Gene took Sam to the pub two weeks later. They’d spent a surreal afternoon the week before Sam left planning how to explain Sam’s disappearance, coming up with loopier and loopier scenarios as an alternative to thinking too much about Sam’s actual departure.

 

Sam had still been laughing at one of Gene’s suggestions when he'd switched over into planning his own memorial service, asking Gene whether he could please make sure that they played “Golden Slumbers” and that new Bowie song, “Ashes to Ashes.”

 

Gene went pale, then got up and left the room without a word. Sam came and found him a few minutes later, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on Gene’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

 

Gene turned, hugging Sam close. “You’re a right insensitive bastard sometimes, Sam,” Gene informed him.

 

Sam’s eyebrows rose, but he refrained from pointing out choice examples of Gene’s own insensitive bastardry.

 

The rest of the week went by too quickly. There wasn’t enough time for all the talking or fucking they wanted to do. There wasn’t enough time to teach Gene how to cook all of the dishes he’d come to actually enjoy over the years. There wasn’t enough time to just touch.

 

All too soon, Gene and Sam were at the door to the Arms. Gene held him one last time, told him he loved him using the actual words. Sam returned the words, face lit up like it was Christmas, like Gene had just agreed to let him work undercover at a restaurant with herbs and spices and olive oil. Like he wasn’t about to walk alone into who knew what.

 

Nelson opened the door to the pub. Sam looked at him, then back at Gene, eyes bright. He cleared his throat. “I’m dying for a pint.”

 

Gene swallowed. “Get one in for me and all.”

 

Sam nodded, and so did Nelson. “It won’t be too long a wait, mon brave,” Nelson told him.

 

And then Sam was gone. Gene walked back to the office and began the paperwork to request a transfer to London. Sam had been sure they’d run in to one another there, eventually.


End file.
